


Hardest Of Hearts

by Queen_Of_Naps



Category: Bruce Dickinson - Fandom, Iron Maiden
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Of_Naps/pseuds/Queen_Of_Naps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music has always been Kennedy Harper's safety blanket. Music was her friend when she moved from Glasgow to London at the age of 11, it helped her cope with her mother's tragic death and her brother's isolation, and it brought her through the ups and downs of young love. Now that her band has hit the big time, the music is going to take her somewhere she's never been before: on tour with Iron Maiden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Somewhere In Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a brief history of how the band the main female character is in came to be.

I was thirteen, but I already felt older. So much had already happened in my short life. We moved from Glasgow to London when I was seven so my mother could pursue her acting career further. Mum and Dad has separated multiple times due to neither of them being able resist temptation. This threw my life into a whirlwind at least once every six months. They had finally settled back together when I turned twelve. Dad apologized for his infidelities, as did Mum. Life finally seemed to be going well when Mum died.

It happened suddenly. She was leaving the theater after dress rehearsals. She was walking across the street when she was hit by a car. The man stopped, and he called the police. His name was Riley Cowell. He said he hadn't seen her. She stayed in the hospital on life support for two months. Riley came by once, and was run off by my father.

I stayed at her bedside the whole time. I kept trying to convince myself there would be a miracle, but with each passing day the doctor brought worse and worse news. I couldn't imagine life without her. Dad finally made the decision to take her off life support. He took us out to eat Indian food (it was her favorite), and explained it to us as delicately (and with as few details as he could) why he had to do it. The smell of Indian food reminded me of all the times she attempted to make curry, and never could get it right.

"She won't be in pain anymore," he explained, "she'll get to move on."

"What if she wakes up?" Patrick asked, "What if you pull the plug and she wakes up and knows you tried to kill her?"

"Patrick, don't say those things," I whined.

"That can't happen," Dad said to Patrick.

"Why not?"

Dad looked at Patrick and then back at me. His voice was shaky when he spoke again, "Patrick, please don't make this harder on us."

"I don't want her to die," I said softly.

"It's going to be okay, Kennedy. She'll be better," Dad said.

Dad reached across the table to take my hand. I stared at the food in front of me. I didn't want it anymore. I just wanted to go back to the hospital and pretend she would wake up at any moment and ask me why I was crying. I wanted her to scold me for not being stronger. I wanted to hear her tell me to never show anyone how hurt I am. I wanted her to tell me to act positive, even if I wasn't. I didn't want to grow up, graduate, get married, have kids, or anything without her there. It didn't seem right.

"She'll be in a better place," Dad says finally.

Patrick scoffs, but a glare from Dad keeps him silent. I hid my tears.

Dad gave us two days to get used to the idea, and then we gathered in the hospital with Granny and Grandad. They both gave her a kiss, and sat down on the sofa. I looked at Granny, and she was exactly what Mum would've looked like as an old woman: fading red hair, delicate face with just a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth from laughing, and still slender. I couldn't bear to look at her for too long.

I kissed Mum on the cheek, I told her I loved her. Tears stained my final glances of her alive. I sat down beside Patrick. He took my hand. Dad went to tell the nurse we were ready. He came back in and stood protectively behind Patrick and me. He put a hand on my shoulder. The nurse looked at us all pitifully.

"I would like to warn you that she may not go immediately, but I assure you that she will not be in any pain. She will just fall asleep," the nurse explained.

The nurse turned off the respirator and removed all the tubes. Mum took two slow, ragged breaths. For a moment I expected her to keep breathing, and I hoped she would open her eyes and look at us. She didn't. A third breath stopped abruptly, and everything went silent. The nurse checked her watch and reported the time of death.

"I'm going to go tell the doctor she's passed on. We will begin the proper procedures when you're ready," she said to Dad. He just nodded.

The room was silent. No more machines, no more ragged breaths. I stared at her still face. It seemed to glow in death as it had under the stage lights. I couldn't believe it, but yet I had no choice.

The day of the funeral was cloudy, but it didn't rain. I had never been to a funeral, but in the movies they were always rainy. I kept expecting it to happen. Many people came to her funeral. I didn't know most of them except the nuns from the Catholic school Mum insisted I attend. I hid from them between Patrick and Dad. The priest stood on the other side of the grave.

"Maureen Harper leaves behind two children: Patrick Maurice Harper and  Kennedy BedeliaHarper. They were the most important things in her life, and they live on as a shining example of her loving life," the priest mused. Dad squeezed my hand.

Patrick elbowed me in the side, I looked up at him preparing my protest. He shushed me before nodding towards a tree. Riley stood partially concealed behind it. I felt my stomach lurch. I spent the rest of the service staring at him. I don't know how I managed to muster so much forgiveness towards him.

"Who does he think he is? What is he trying to do by coming to her funeral?" Patrick bellowed as soon as we were both got into the house after the funeral.

"Maybe he wanted to pay his respects?"

Patrick scoffed, "Yes, well it's his fault anyone had to pay their respects to her corpse!"

"I don't think he did it on purpose."

"Do you know who go to the funerals of their victims, Kennedy?"

My heart stung, "You never call me Kenny."

Patrick shook his head, "When will you grow up? Silly nicknames don't matter anymore."

He ran upstairs without looking back. Dad enters cautiously. I choked back tears as he took me into a hug.

"It's okay, honey. He's just upset."

I knew Patrick was right. Considering everything, it was stupid to get upset over a childish nickname. It just seemed to represent a rift between us.

As time went on we all found our own ways to cope. Dad had started writing another play based on what we went through. Patrick stayed in his room all the time. I had Ronnie. Ronnie was our neighbor and also Patrick's best friend. Despite being ignored by Patrick, Ronnie continued to come around. He eventually settled with hanging around me.

On the day that Mum's old manager, William Willis (I think his name was fake) came over to break the news that Mum's part in the play she was in before she died was filled. It hit me deeper than seemed appropriate. Ronnie happened to be over too. When William left, I began to blow up about the news. Ronnie sat on the front porch step while I paced back in forth in front of him. I spoke rapidly, my Scottish accent becoming even more pronounced than it usually was.

"It's just not right, why would they do that?" I asked angrily.

"They have to keep going."

"But why? It was her play. What kind of bitch moves in on a dead woman's part?"

"It wasn't her play. Don't get me wrong, she had a big part, but it wasn't hers."

"They just act like nothing happened!"

"They hung a black curtain over the marquee for three weeks," he pointed out.

I sighed in an attempt to hide my tears, "Why can't you just agree with me? How can they keep going, and how can you excuse it?"

It didn't seem fair to me that the world kept going on without her. It just kept turning, people just kept living. I kept breathing, and for that I felt guilty.

Ronnie sighed, "Don't lash out at me. What you're going through isn't my fault."

I couldn't bring myself to apologize even though I knew I should.

"Why do we even live if we're just gonna die?" I asked Ronnie while tears stained my face.

He answered with all honesty he could muster, "I don't know. I've never had to think about it."

I sat down beside him. I could hear Patrick playing his guitar in his room. He had recently bought an electric guitar. Mum had bought us both acoustics when we were younger. Patrick didn't bother to learn how to play until after she died, and he spent all his time playing now. He taught himself, but I started taking lessons from Ronnie's older brother; however, since Mum died my guitar had been sitting in the den collecting dust. The last time I played it I was showing her how Ronnie's brother taught me how to play "Heartbreak Hotel" by Elvis. She loved Elvis.

I wanted to continue playing, but I couldn't go into the room where Mum's urn sat on the mantle staring at me. In the meantime I filled my longing to play music by singing along with Patrick's playing. I had to make the words up most of the time, but those moments were the core of my musical growth. He got to where he would invite me into his room sometimes. The few moments Patrick and I played music together made me feel like the world had stopped. Death lost its inevitability for just a moment. Everything was as it was meant to be. Ever since I discovered that feeling it had become my dream to spend my whole life singing. I wanted to sing to as many people as I could get to listen. I imagined myself standing on a stage, with thousands of people hearing my voice and my words. I just wondered if I could actually do it. These thoughts began racing through my mind, and drove out any grief for the time being.

"Do you think I'll ever be famous like my mum?"

"Your mum was only famous in London."

"So?"

"I think you'll be even more famous one day."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because you like music, and music reaches more people than acting," he said it like it was just a fact of life. I wasn't so sure that was the case, but I didn't tell him so.

"How do you think I'll do it?"

"We'll start a band if you want to," he answers, "and Patrick will join too."

The thought of being in a band shot excitement through me. We spent the rest of our summer talking about it.

Patrick finally became a functioning human being again the next spring. He still called me Kennedy instead of Kenny, but I got over it. The damage of being called Kennedy was nothing compared to when he and Ronnie formed a band without me. Patrick didn't want to drag his little sister around. Ronnie, despite our plans, didn't want me to be a part of it either. He was always trying to talk me out of the music business.

"It's a man's game," he would say. I always thought this was a funny excuse since they had called the band Rogue Vogue, which was a ridiculously girly name. Sometimes, when he was feeling really honest, he would admit that he didn't want me around other guys too much. He would always say, "I trust you, I just don't trust other guys." When I was finally accepted into the band, I realized he didn't trust me or guys. He became protective, and insisted I was with him at all times. I always seemed to convince myself it wasn't a big deal.

I was more focused on the band. I sang my heart out in clubs and bars I was supposed to be in. Most of the time I had to wear my school uniform to them because I would have to go straight to them after school, and this also helped convince most of the club owners to allow us to play too.

"The guys will get a kick out of her," one particularly sleazy club owner remarked.

It bothered Ronnie and Patrick that so many of the clubs would only let us play because I was a cute girl wearing a schoolgirl outfit. It bothered me at first, but I eventually decided that it was best to try and be the best I could with what I was given instead of fighting to be seen as one of the boys. I would never gain acceptance otherwise as long as we were trying to get gigs at sleazy clubs and crummy bars. If the world is only going to see my body, I might as well use it to my advantage.

I ignored the few vile remarks made about my appearance, and sang my heart out instead. Ronnie and Patrick played their guitars until their fingers bled. Patrick's girlfriend/bassist, Georgianna, and our drummer, Bill Marks, provided the heartbeat to our songs. We spent almost every day either practicing or playing a gig. We worked our asses off for every bit of success we received. Finally, in 1982 we were signed to a label. I didn't realize just exactly how much that would change my life. 


	2. Turn And Face The Changes

After months of being cooped up in a studio, it was a relief to be back on stage. Clive, our manager, had grand plans of having us opening arenas. I realized we wouldn't be playing to people who came exclusively for us for a while. We would just be warming them up for the main act. We would have to come out blazing every night to even make a mark, and even then we would be a passing thought, an interjection in the conversation. The intimacy would take more work, and on some nights it may be unattainable. So much was about to change in such a short amount of time. For these reasons, I was extremely grateful to this small club that was filling with our fans. These people were our people, and I knew the family would soon be growing which was exciting. Arenas would be a new challenge for us.

A hand on my shoulder took my attention from the swelling crowd. Our drummer Billy hovered over me.

"Are you feeling overwhelmed by the crowd?" He asked.

"Knowing what we'll be seeing in the future, this seems like child's play."

He smirks, "I like the child's play."

"Me too."

He leans against the wall beside me, and together we take in the crowd. This atmosphere was home to me, and now I was being moved to a new home. I was vaguely reminded of the big move from Glasgow to London when I was eleven. Would fitting into an arena be as hard as fitting in a new city was?

"You'll have them in the palm of your hand, kid," Billy remarked. "As usual."

Ronnie strolled up to me, and as soon as I was in reach he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. Ronnie kissed my temple.

"I'm gonna go get my drumsticks, we're going on in five minutes," Bill said without breaking eye contact with Ronnie.

"Why do you do that?" Ronnie asked, sounding as pitiful as he could. Despite his efforts, I could still sense his jealousy.

"What? Talk to my fellow band members?" I retort.

He strums absentmindedly on his guitar.

"You know what I mean," he says, "you were flirting with one another."

"Please don't do this," I begged, "not right now. We're about to go on."

"Just don't flirt so much."

I stare at him blankly. My thoughts raced with all the comments I could make, the arguments I could throw at him, and the accusations he didn't know I could make. I stay silent, and in this moment I didn't feel anything. I was shut down. It wasn't until I heard the club owner introduce us that I was even aware of my surroundings again.

I was suddenly walking on stage, and everyone filed behind me before taking their respective places. Ronnie and Patrick stood to my right with their guitars ready to go, Georgianna stood to the left with her bass. She stood close enough for us to share a microphone during her backup parts, and so we could whisper to one another if we noticed something in the crowd. Bill was behind me on his drums, ready to pound away his aggression.

As we blazed into the first song I took the crowd into my hands like putty, and throughout the whole set I was completely focused on them. I leaned in so I could make eye contact with people in the back, to try and make them feel at home despite being pushed against the wall. I squeezed them when we were in particularly intense songs, and I let them go during more upbeat songs. I let them bounce and be free.

This is what I live for. The boost, the adrenaline. Not being the the center of attention of a room full of people, but being with them. The hearts of each one of us being perfectly in tune. We were all here for music. I lose myself every time I perform. I let go of Kennedy who is insecure and unavailable. I sink into the crowd's screams. I am not me anymore. I'm a dream of who I want to be. I'm confident and proud. I let myself be gutted right there on stage, and everything is on display. Here is me, all of me: the good and the bad. Here are all of the feelings I can't dare show when I'm being "just Kennedy" instead of "Kennedy the Rockstar."

"A girl just threw her bra at Ronnie," Georgianna whispered to me during a solo. She pulled me out of the performance haze. "Just Kennedy" returns. I turn to look at Ronnie, and there it is. A black lace bra hangs off his guitar, and directly in front of him a girl is practically crawling on stage to try and touch him. I can see her bare breast through her shirt. It wasn't hard to figure out who the bra belongs to. I see Ronnie give her a wink. I shut down, and I return to my haze. My safety blanket, if you will. Nothing matters except the music.

"What a show!" Clive exclaims as we all file off the stage. He puts his arms around me and Georgianna's shoulders, "You girls are going to really cement a place for women in rock!"

Georgianna and I look at one another with smirks. I knew she was probably making a mental list of all the women already in rock just like I was. Of course, there weren't as many as there should be. It was nice to know we would help make it seem like a more attainable dream for girls.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ronnie disappear out of the club with the bra in his hand. I was still shut down to him, and I wasn't sure how much that would change.

Bill and Patrick sat down on the battered couch. Clive released Georgianna and me to sit in between them.

"So, I've got a little something to tell you all," he says.

"Ronnie's not here," Patrick said, "we probably shouldn't discuss anything without us all being here."

"I'll talk to him about it later," Clive assures him.

"Who cares about Ronnie?" Georgianna growled. Bill nodded in agreement. Although he had just been with me an hour ago, Ronnie seemed like a distant memory.

Clive's eyes dart to each of our faces, but he doesn't seem shocked by our attitudes.

"Anyway, the details of the tour have been worked out and confirmed."

"And?" I asked.

"We will be touring with Iron Maiden. They've got a new singer, he's quite impressive really," Clive explains. I was struck with excitement.

I had seen Iron Maiden play many times with Paul Di'Anno, and was always electrified by the pure power of their sound. I couldn't imagine what a new singer would sound like them, but I knew for Clive to be impressed with him he must be excellent.

"So, when are we leaving?" I ask

"Next week, but we'll be meeting them at the record release party Friday night."

We all nodded in understanding.

"Alright, well, I don't know about you guys but I'm gonna go grab a pint," Bill proclaims.

"I'll come with you," Patrick joins in. Georgianna stands up to join them.

"Are you gonna come, Kenny?" Patrick asks.

"I'll be out there in a minute," I reply.

I watched them leave, Patrick and Georgianna left hand-in-hand. I move to sit on the couch beside Clive. He studies me for a long time before speaking.

"Listen, we need to talk."

"I know."

"You need to think about how you and Ronnie's relationship is going to affect the band."

I let out a sigh, "I know I need to break up with him, but it's hard."

"Why? You fight all the time."

"My mother always said that tension fueled creativity," the words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Clive stands up and starts for the door, but then he slowly turns to me, "He's snuffing out your flame."

He left me alone with those words. 


	3. Like Clockwork

The week had been dreary, so when I woke up in the morning to sunshine I decide to take advantage of it by sitting out on the patio with my guitar. I strummed along absently until I hit something I liked, and then I would switch on the recorder to get it on tape. By the time I heard Ronnie's car pull up in the driveway, I had three short compositions recorded. I knew I would need a whole song before I bothered to play them for anyone, but it was nice to be able to circulate ideas in my head. All the while, Clive's words played in my mind. I don't know if it was true that Ronnie was snuffing out my flame, but I did know he made everything I came up with darker than I wanted. My compositions always had a melancholic sound to them, even if the lyrics were supposed to get people pumped up.

I thought about where Ronnie had been with Black Lacy Bra girl, and compared it to how he got angry at me for even being friends with Billy. He always wanted more out of me: faithfulness, love, openness. He never gave. He wasn't faithful, and he kept more secrets than I did. Whether or not he loved me was to be debated, but I knew in my heart he didn't. He did at one point, but not anymore. Those days were long gone. So why did I stay with him? If Clive or Patrick or anyone else would've asked me I would've said it was for the band. If I dumped him, he would leave the band. If he left the band it would backtrack us at a very vital time. We were going on tour. We didn't have time to recalculate our sound, and even if I took up his spot we would have to recalculate.

Of course, no matter how many times I reiterated that reasoning I knew it wasn't true. I was with Ronnie because it felt safer to me than having to try and find someone else. We had a quiet understanding now. He knew why I was the way I was. Even if he didn't like it. He knew deep down that I was just an afraid little girl, but he didn't condescend the tough exterior I put out nor did he try to penetrate it anymore. He hadn't been able too since Dad sent me to therapy after Mom died. The counselor threw around words like "depression" "anxiety" "medication", and after a failed suicide attempt she threw around the words "hospitalization." I still don't know how Dad avoided that, but it made me realize I needed to hide. Not everyone was going to want to understand my feelings. It was simply easier to stay with Ronnie than it was to move on. No matter how unhappy we were or how much he hurt me sometimes. It was just easier, and sometimes he could still make me believe the lie that he still loved me.

I didn't realize I had stopped playing until I heard the recorder click off. I turned to see Ronnie holding the recorder.

"Trying to record your thoughts?" he asked with a smile.

"No, I was playing," I answer, "I guess I sort of spaced out."

He sat on the stool beside my chair, and he put his hand on my arm. He must've felt some shame for last night's actions, or he at least wanted me to believe he did.

"Honey, me and Clive had a talk last night," he says softly.

"Oh, about us?"

He nods, "And how we affect the band."

"So, what conclusions did you draw from it?" I asked him.

"Well, he thinks we need to break up."

"What do you think?"

Ronnie smiles, "I think he's wrong."

The disappointment at this answer shocked me, but I tried my best to hide it.

"You want to stay together?"

"Yes," he answers, "I would like too."

"What about bra girl?"

"She didn't mean anything to me baby."

"What about the other girls?"

He stands up quickly, almost knocking the stool over. His eyes were set ablaze with anger, but I could see him trying to reel it back in. He paces away from me from one hedge to the other.

"Damn it, Kennedy, I'm trying here," he claims.

He was always claimed to be trying really hard whenever the prospect of a breakup came up. We've played this game so many times. I felt like I should just let all of my feelings out, convince him we don't belong together, and break up. Then what? Pack up, leave, start anew, find someone else until they expect me to open up, then break up with them and start the cycle over again? No thank you. I would rather play the same game with the same person.

"I know," I say without actually meaning it, "I'm sorry."

He looked quite pleased with my performance. So pleased in fact that he gives me a quick kiss and takes the guitar out of my lap before scooping me up and carrying me away to our bedroom. There he throws me onto the bed as if this is going to be fun for both of us. He crawls on top of me, and kisses me clumsily. I could taste the whiskey on his lips. I was easily losing myself in the game again. Now we were a passionate couple, at least until he got mad at me again. I run my hands up his chest before tangling them into his hair. He pulls my legs up around his waist, and starts grinding. I could feel his excitement growing, and trying to burst free from his blue jeans. Just as he sits up to undo his pants, the phone rings and pulls me back into reality.

"Leave it," he whines.

"It might be Clive," I insist.

I go to the kitchen to answer the phone expecting someone I knew. Instead it was a girl I didn't know.

"Who are you?" She demands.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"This is Sofia. I want Ronnie. Is he there?"

I slam the phone down.

"Ronnie, what the fuck?" I yell.

He walks into the kitchen trying to look very innocent.

"You gave a girl our phone number?"

"Listen, it's not what you think," he insists. "She's a fan."

I shake my head and walk back to the bedroom, carefully slamming the door. I was still playing the game, but not as much. I felt a legitimate pang on my heart. I knew it was inevitable that he would cheat on me, but I never thought he would intertwine his extracurricular love life with me. I fell face first onto the bed.

He enters the room cautiously, and sits on the edge of the bed. He places a hand on my calf.

"I'm sorry, Kenny."

"Go away, Ronnie."

"I am sorry."

"I don't care."

He moves to lay beside me, and he rubs my back gently.

"Don't be mad," he pleads, "I'll do better. I can change."

"I don't want you to do better. I want you to go away."

I gave up on trying to act angry. We both knew I wasn't leaving. So, I rolled over to face him. As I figured, he picked up right where we left off before the phone rang. I closed my eyes and let it happen. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kennedy attends the record release party. Ronnie gets jealous when Kennedy makes friends with a certain lead singer.

We had only been at the record company party for half an hour, but Ronnie had already disappeared. Georgianna and I sat at the bar drinking wine wishing we could go home. The only other women there were hanging onto their men to try and keep them from being tempted by the groupies who had somehow found their way into the party. I knew Ronnie had probably taken off with one of the groupies. He always seemed to enjoy spending time with other girls than he ever did me.

"I'm so happy I have you to follow around," Georgianna said with a laugh, pulling me out of my bitter thoughts. .

"I never realized how strange of a breed we were," I say.

"Would it be impolite to leave?" She asks.

"We should probably give it a little more time," I suggest.

She orders another drink, and she downs the whole thing as soon as she gets it. I'm still playing with my glass. Part of me wanted to drink all the conflicting feelings away. I wanted to forget about where Ronnie was, and how I felt about him. I wanted the upcoming tour to stop lingering in the back of my mind, and the band we were touring with to stop feeling so intimidating to me. It would feel so great to not have to feel. But another part of me was wanting to stay as in control of myself as much as possible. If I got drunk who knows what I might do or say?

"Do you think they serve jager?" Georgianna asks.

It takes me a while to comprehend what she had just asked me. She gets a worried look in her eyes.

"Hey, do you need some air or something?" She asks.

"Um, no. I'm fine," I smile reassuringly, "I'm sure you can get a jager here."

She shrugs, "I'll order one later. I'm gonna try to find Patrick."

I nod, "Okay. I'll just sit here and contemplate how drunk I want to get."  
"Don't start without me," she says with a wink. She disappears into the crowd.

I sit in silence for about two seconds, and then someone sitting next to me clears their throat. I glance at them, and I'm greeted with direct eye contact by a set of hazel eyes partially hidden by a fringe.

"You know, if you're having to contemplate how drunk you want to get then you should probably get very drunk," the man says. Immediately I notice how insanely confident he seems, even in responding to a conversation he wasn't involved in.

"Were you eavesdropping?"

He looks appalled, "Of course not. I was sitting here minding my own business. I just heard you."

"You were eavesdropping."

"You may believe whatever you want."

I shake my head, "You have some nerve."

"Well, you are obviously too high strung. Get drunk."

"Who are you?"

He smirks, "Who are you?"

"I asked you first."

"Did you?"

"Of course, you didn't ask at all!"

"That's because I don't have to." He holds points at a poster on the wall with a portrait of my band on it, I was in the center with my name blazed under me.

"I still don't know who you are," I insist.

"I'm Bruce Dickinson."

"What brings you here?"

"Iron Maiden."

I wanted to punch myself in the face. What a way to start off the next nine months! I felt my cheeks flush, and then I quickly hid my face.

"Oh, you must be the new singer."

"Yes," he answers.

I order another glass of wine from the bar tender.

"So, you're taking my advice?"

"It seems like it."

He orders himself another drink, and to my relief disappears into the party. Something about this conversation left my heart pounding. I went to find Georgianna immediately. I pushed through the groupies and executives. Apparently someone had orders some strippers I had to maneuver around. I spotted Georgianna across the room, and I quickly began to make my way to her. I felt a hand on my arm, stopping me in my tracks. I turn to see Ronnie.

"Come with me," he growls.

He started pulling me to a deserted corner. He pushes me into the corner, and his face is inches from mine. The anger was radiating off of him. I leaned so close to the wall, I could've melded into it if I wanted to.

"Who was that guy talking to you at the bar?" He demands.

"It was just the lead singer for Iron Maiden," I answer honestly.

"Why were you talking to him?"

"I don't know he just started talking to me."

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" He roars.

The room grows silent, and all eyes had found us in the corner. Now everyone knows Ronnie's and my dirty little secret. I caught Bruce's eyes, and my heart starts pounding all over again.

"Hey, hey, stop this," Patrick pulls Ronnie away from. Ronnie shrugs him off.

"Fuck off," he mutters.

He leaves in a huff. With all eyes on me, I felt tears stinging my eyes. I felt like I had been split open in front of everyone.

Georgianna puts her arm around me, and she leads me out of the party. She takes me back to her flat without saying anything or asking any questions. She lets me take a shower, and I let all the tears flow out of me. The only reason I didn't stay in there until all the hot water was gone was because I heard her slam the phone down. I pull on the pajamas she gave me to wear.

"Do you feel better?" She asks as I emerge out of the bathroom.

I nod, "Thank you."

She pats the spot beside her on the sofa, and I immediately take it. I look watch some silly movie she had on the TV until I find myself in the arms of sleep.


End file.
